


Waiting Up

by dreamoverdrive



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamoverdrive/pseuds/dreamoverdrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred waits up for Hermione's arrival at the Burrow:</p><p>He gulped, not quite sure what to do with a very confusing and very pretty Hermione in front of him saying that she missed him and wanted to punch him. “I missed you, too, Hermione,” he finally said in a quiet voice. He cleared his throat and resisted the urge to look away. “I actually missed you a lot.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting Up

Fred really didn’t know what he was doing.

It was late, he was exhausted, and he had the ink from planning joke shop names smeared on his fingers and face.There was a dull thud in his head, squarely behind each temple, that went on and on…

But he still padded down the stairs, trying to ignore the strange pounding in his chest and nervousness that lingered in his stomach. She should have arrived by now, but he knew muggle transportation was slow and unreliable. He still resolved that if something had happened to her in one of those moving metal boxes, he’d curse every last one into dust—

The charm on the door chirped and he choked on air. When a foot set on the path leading up to the house, the handle would chirp until someone inside was awake to get to the door. Fred satisfied the requirement by bounding down the rest of the stairs, slamming his hip into a sharp corner of the dining room table, and wheezing the rest of the way in a fast shamble to the door.

His hand was on the handle and he was about to fling the door open wide when he remembered that she hadn’t even knocked yet, and it would be painfully obvious he’d been waiting up for her. They’d spent the last year edging around each other with small smiles over the breakfast table in the Great Hall and finger brushes when they passed a stack of papers or a quill around in the common room. He wasn’t quite sure how she felt about him, or if she felt anything towards him at all, and he wasn’t about to make himself look like an idiot.

He swore under his breath and scrambled away from the door, his socks slipping on the hardwood until he was settled in a chair. Then he remembered she wouldn’t see him in the chair because he’d have to open the door to let her in. He was just furiously berating himself for even _thinking_ about what the appropriate amount of time would be to make her wait outside before he let her in would be (because that was just plain childish) when a crisp rap sounded on the wood.

He froze and went through a quick checklist. His breathing was normal in spite of all the scrambling he’d done, his hip ached but it was manageable, his socks matched and they weren’t the pair his mom had stitched with pink snitches on them.

He took a slow breath and stood. Walking over to the door seemed to take longer than it should. Everything seemed far more dramatic than it should. It had only been a month and a half, for Merlin’s sake—

He unlatched the door and pulled it back. She stared up at him out of the darkness. Her cheeks were flushed from hauling her trunk from the car and wisps escaped from her ponytail that barely seemed to be holding back her masses of frizzy hair. She grinned, and white teeth twinkled up at him.

“Can I come in? Or is there a password?”

He blinked for a few moments, and then caught himself. He cleared his throat, straightening with mock seriousness. “Right. I suppose we can’t bend protocol.” He leaned towards her and grinned. “Who is the best beater currently in residence at the Burrow?”

She quirked a side of her lips in pretend thought and knit her brow. “Well… I suppose that would be George, wouldn’t it?” He scowled and started to shut the door. She thrust her hand in to stop him as she laughed. “Come on then, Fred. Let me in.”

He let out a long sigh and pushed the door back open. He laid his hands out expectantly for her trunk. Her eyes took on a wicked gleam before she hauled it up and dropped it into his arms. He swore and staggered into the doorframe.

“Hermione, are you trafficking cauldrons? I’m not one to judge business ventures, but you’ve _got_ to come up with a better means of transportation.”

He turned to make his way back into the house and heard the door click shut behind them with the sound of her quiet laughter. “Nothing but books," she said. "I’m up to my ears in them. I’ve been doing some muggle reading this summer, just to get the feel for it again. I’ve only barely finished next year’s textbooks.“

He lowered her trunk to the floor with a thud and groaned as he straightened. He stretched his arms to the ceiling to work out the kinks in the disks of his back. When he looked back at her, he couldn’t help but smirk when he saw her eyes had flashed up from his stomach where his shirt had lifted. He raised his eyebrows. “Were the textbooks _good_?”

Her face colored and she looked away. She reached back to pull her hair out of its ponytail, scowling at the floor. “Brilliant,” she muttered as she snapped her hair band back into a new bun. “Just brilliant.”

“Come on, Hermione, I’m only teasing. Were they good or not?”

She sent him a suspicious look as she shrugged out of her jacket. “Are you asking me seriously or just to humor me?”

He lowered himself down into an armchair, hoping that she would get the hint that he wanted to stay up and talk for a little while longer. “I’m asking seriously. George and I still have some of our old potions textbooks that we kept from falling into the neglectful hands of Ron. Still good for when we’re coming up with new formulas. A good textbook is bloody useful.”

She gave him a grudging smile as she folded up her jacket and laid it on the back of the couch cushion. “Well, they were good. Especially the Herbology one.” She leaned on the couch and looked up at him. “New formulas for what?”

“Oh, er—“ He got the feeling that Hermione wouldn’t approve of his and George’s plans to get a business going. He didn’t want to explain them to her just yet, because he was sure their products would sound even worse to her in concept than actual practice. “Just recreational potions.”

“Recreational potions?” She arched an eyebrow. “Fred, do you know what Muggles call recreational potions?”

“What would that be?”

“Drugs.”

He glared. “Hermione, that’s not funny.”

She grinned and moved around the back of the couch to lower herself onto the orange seat. “I know. It’s awful of me. My humor takes a decidedly dark twist after a long day of travel.”

“Do you consider the distance from your bed to the breakfast table a long travel in the mornings, because I seem to notice this is a trend—“

“Fred, I’m cranky and I’m going to jinx you—“

He raised a finger in triumph. “Ah, ah, ah! Underage witches can’t be making threats like those that they can’t follow through on.”

She scowled at him, eyes flashing between his finger and his face as if she’d like nothing more than to be able to curse it off his hand. “Neither can you, underage _wizard_. Unlike you, I’ve had the benefit of growing up in the Muggle world, where I learned how to pinch and punish without magic.”

“Punish? Are you considering punishing me, Hermione? Because I’m all for that.”

Her face grew bright red and thunderous. She leapt from her couch and snatched up her jacket. “Oh, I’ve had enough of you and your infuriating—“

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry,” he cried, leaping from his own chair as she moved to shove past him towards the narrow staircase. “I’m sorry, Hermione, really I am!”

She paused right in front of him and gave him a sharp once over with her brown eyes. He tried to look as innocent as possible as she seemed to deliberate over whether or not to knock him over and continue on her path or to stay for a bit longer.

Suddenly, to Fred’s great and utter surprise, a small and tender smile lit her face. “I missed you, Fred. I haven’t wanted to punch someone so badly in months, and it only took you a grand total of five minutes.”

He gulped, not quite sure what to do with a very confusing and very pretty Hermione in front of him saying that she missed him and wanted to punch him. “I missed you, too, Hermione,” he finally said in a quiet voice. He cleared his throat and resisted the urge to look away. “I actually missed you a lot.”

Her smile spread into a grin. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

He found he was leaning in closer and closer towards her. “No, not at all.”

“Hermione?”

Fred froze and Hermione squeaked at the sound of the newcomer’s voice. When Fred turned around, he found Harry standing at the top of the stairs in his pajamas, scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. Fred opened his mouth to say something but found himself shoved to the side. He let out a grunt as Hermione rushed up the stairs, two at a time.

“Harry,” she called in a hushed voice. “What on earth are you doing awake?” She tackled him in a tight hug and he stumbled back a bit, still looking quite dazed. He looked down at Fred over Hermione’s shoulder and seemed to get the gist of what had been happening before he’d appeared on the stairs. He mouthed a quick sorry and Fred shrugged, though he nursed a new bruise on his shoulder that he was sure would match the color of the one on his hip by morning.

He let them hug for a few moments and tried to ignore the complaints of his wounded pride. “Hermione, do you want your trunk up tonight,” Fred called.

She let Harry go and turned around. “Oh, er—“ She seemed embarrassed as she came back down the stairs. “It would be nice.” She drew up in front of him and the tender look came back over her face. “But we could always figure it out in the morning.”

He blinked and stifled a smile. “Yes, I suppose we could always do that.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Harry called. He shuffled off back to his room, seeming to regret having woken up at all.

Hermione gave Fred one last quick smile. “I’ll be getting up to Ginny’s room, then. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He nodded and shoved her suitcase to the side. “Right.”

“Goodnight, Fred.” She hesitated for a moment, pink coloring her cheeks, and then turned to quickly dart back up the stairs.

Fred enjoyed a small moment of peace as he watched the end of her ponytail disappear behind a curve in the staircase.

It would certainly be an interesting summer.

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write.


End file.
